


Nothing So Divine

by vaeltaa



Category: Casino Royale (2006), Hannibal (TV), James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Cannibalism, Creeper Hannibal, Crossover, Dubious Consent, Implied Incest, M/M, Manipulation, Multi, Murder, Porn With Plot, Possessive Hannibal, Threesome - M/M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-17 12:08:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaeltaa/pseuds/vaeltaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A dinner for two and an evening of seduction is upset by an uninvited guest from Hannibal Lecter's past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set somewhere around _Sorbet_ , and after _Casino Royale_ \- except Le Chiffre is still alive (on the run and fearing retribution from several pissed off clients whose money he lost in a high-stakes game of poker).

  


_" I'm getting very sorry for the Devil and his disciples such as the good Le Chiffre. The Devil has a rotten time and I always like to be on the side of the underdog. We don't give the poor chap a chance. The Devil has no prophets to write his Ten Commandments and no team of authors to write his biography."_

\- Ian Fleming, _Casino Royale_ (1953)

  
 

"Am I early?"

"You're right on time. Come in, Will."

Will shrugs off his jacket, damp from a light brush of snowflakes and hands it off to Hannibal to put away. He drags a hand through his hair, shifts his weight back and forth and folds his arms across his chest for a lack of anything else to do with them. 

Hannibal had invited him to come for dinner during a particularly revealing and heated session earlier that day, explaining patiently that his office and their therapy sessions were not the appropriate place or time for exploring intimacy.

He'd promised it would just be the two of them so Will could feel at ease while they came to terms with this sudden shift in their relationship, but Will instantly notices an unfamiliar, black coat hanging on the coat rack intended for guests. 

"Is there someone else here?" he asks with mild confusion, the aspect of socializing with strangers after a trying week at the bureau none too appealing, especially when he'd been promised an evening just for two. 

Hannibal looks apologetic. "I'm sorry, there's been a minor change in plans."

"We don't have to - I mean, I can leave if this is a bad time," Will says quickly, the courage he'd built up inside draining away from his mind and crumbling like sand castles against the tide.

"No, not at all. Stay, I insist," Hannibal replies, voice calm and collected, but Will notes an erratic, almost distracted strain in his voice. "I invited you for dinner tonight. Unlike my cousin who invited himself." 

 

**

 

"I didn't think you had any living relatives."

"For a long time, neither did I. This way, please," Hannibal says and guides him down the hallway, to a part of the spacious house Will hadn't seen before. The walls were lined with beautiful oil paintings of what resembled the French Riviera.

"I guess I just didn't expect to be meeting with the family so soon," Will remarks with a small chuckle. "If I'm imposing in any way..." he continues as they reach the end of the hall, but his words trail off into nothing as they enter a large, sophisticated room with muted lamps where a bright fireplace burned and crackled at the far end. 

Will took in his surroundings and tastefully decorated interior, a minor sense of awe dawning on his face. It smelled like old books and distinguished leather, and the warmth from the fire was a comforting contrast to the chill outside.

"I assure you, you're not imposing," Hannibal says with a reassuring glance towards Will. "In fact, I'm very much grateful for your presence."

A tall man, immaculately dressed in a black suit with sharp, simplistic yet elegant lines was standing at the far end of the room, the shadows from the flames briefly illuminating his dark shape while he intently studied what looked like a phone in his hand.

Will felt a small pang of confused apprehension at the doctor's words, growing slightly uncomfortable with the situation he suddenly found himself in, but eventually politeness and curiosity trumped his unease as he followed Hannibal further into the room to meet the stranger. 

"Allow me to introduce you to Will Graham," Hannibal nods to the other man, who turned to face them while tucking his phone into his inner suit pocket, briefly revealing a luxurious silk shirt in ox blood red, sleek and elegantly fit to a lean torso. 

"He works with the FBI."

Will's eyes widen significantly as he meets the man's mildly jarring and definitely distracting gaze, adjusting his glasses in an attempt to hide his initial shock at the dark-haired man's uncanny likeness to his older relative - he was nearly the spitting image of the psychiatrist he'd grown close to and trusted with his innermost thoughts. 

"I - I'm just a teacher, actually."

"Will," Hannibal turns toward him with a gesture. "This is Le Chiffre."

Le Chiffre extends an elegantly tanned hand - a steel Longines watch on his wrist, that hinted at time spent in exotic, far sunnier locations than Baltimore, Maryland. 

"Mr. Graham," he smiles pleasantly - although Will thought it was a smile better suited for a snake oil salesman, but he shook his hand and noted with a half-smile that his grip was firm and strong, almost bordering on too strong. 

"It's nice to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine," Le Chiffre replies in a voice deepened by years of indulging in vices, clearly noticing Will's avoidance to make proper eye contact. "Does it make you uncomfortable?" he asks with a deliberate wink of his severely damaged left eye, its entire iris clouded and grey.

"Please, have a seat," Hannibal interjects before Will can answer and they sit down in oversized red leather recliners, worn but still retaining their dated elegance - positioned in a half-circle not too close to the fire. 

"May I offer drinks, gentlemen?" Hannibal continues while walking over to a small bar cabinet and taking out three pristine glasses. 

"Just whiskey for me, thanks. No ice," Will says, splaying his arms out on the wide armrests, pretending to gaze into the fire while watching Le Chiffre remove his suit jacket and sit down in his peripheral vision. 

"Make that two," Le Chiffre says after a pause, holding up two fingers.

After the initial surprise wears off, Will could see their physical features were similar yet polar opposites; a familial likeness apparent at first glance yet widely different on closer inspection. 

Le Chiffre was notably younger by a few years, second day stubble readily apparent and his hair cut shorter with blunt edges and so dark it was nearly black. With him followed an air of superiority and an brash arrogance that set him far apart from Will's demure psychiatrist. 

They did share a set of fantastic genes, Will reluctantly admitted to himself. His night alone with his well-dressed doctor had turned into something quite different, but Will thought it didn't have to make it any less interesting. He loosened the top button on his brown flannel shirt, the heat from the fireplace hitting his face in waves.

"So, Mr. Graham - or, is it agent?" Le Chiffre asks with a distinctly Eastern-European accent, but with a vaguely North American pressure on the hard consonants, a deftly rolling of his r's - clued towards a well-traveled, international life. He takes his offered glass from Hannibal.

"Will is fine," he replies, taking a sip of his own glass and catching a glimpse of Hannibal's face as he sat down in the chair between them, his expression revealing nothing but polite interest with his guests' conversation and exchange of pleasantries.

Will had picked up an initial quiet hostility in the air between his doctor and the uninvited guest, and even if it seemed to have mostly dissipated by now, he could tell Hannibal wasn't overly pleased with this forced change of plans. Will smiled briefly at the thought of Hannibal wanting to be alone with him in a non-professional setting, only to have his plans upset by an impromptu family gathering.

"And what do you teach at the FBI academy?" Le Chiffre continues, nearly downing half his drink in one swallow, ignoring a glare from Hannibal at his questions.

"Profiling, mostly," Will says.

"A profiler!" Le Chiffre repeats with a smirk. "So you catch bad men by thinking like they do," he continues, almost mulling over the words in his mouth like they were bitter like the alcohol in his glass. "And... _Hannibal_ is your psychiatrist?" 

Will waits for Le Chiffre's smirk to fade but it doesn't.

"Le Chiffre," Hannibal says sternly. "This is not a suitable topic for conversation."

"My apologies Mr. Graham," Le Chiffre says with a sigh. "Hannibal's patients are none of my business and - I'd hate to be rude," he finishes with a look towards Hannibal and raises the golden liquid in his glass for a toast. 

"To family, and to my new acquaintance in the Federal Bureau."

 

**

 

They enjoy their drinks in a silence that becomes stifling after a short while, and Will decides to break it, finding the mysterious cousin eyeing him across the room intriguingly charming - and he was curious to know more about him, perhaps even shedding some light on the illusive past Hannibal rarely talked about in the process. 

"Le Chiffre, is that French?"

" _Oui_ ," Le Chiffre responds, his good eye glowing brown in the orange flickering light. 

"During our years living in France," Hannibal begins with a collected ease, "I chose to go to medical school because I wanted to help people, while Le Chiffre was something of a chess prodigy, with a mind for mathematics and a desire to use his talents for... A much different career path than mine," he finishes, smelling the aroma of the whiskey in his glass before taking a sip. 

"I work in finance, which must sound very dull and self-serving compared to my Samaritan cousin - your good doctor," Le Chiffre interjects pointedly, brows arched and smiling like he thought himself very amusing. "I am merely an accountant for certain people who have more money than they know what to do with," he finishes and rises from his seat, leaving his drink on the table. He thoughtfully straightens out his black tie before walking a few steps to stop in close proximity to Will, crowding into his personal space. 

"Refill?" he asks, looking down at Will's drink, who shakes his head no. 

"Well, I wouldn't know anything about that," Will says, voice wavering unsteadily, betraying his inner turmoil, the towering presence of the other man blocking out most of the light from the fire, and he was acutely aware of Le Chiffre's crotch in his face. "H-having a lot of money, I mean."

Will fights a shudder as he feels Le Chiffre's hand caressing his exposed neck, well-tended, long fingers stroking against his thumping pulse. "I can see why he likes you," he says quietly, almost to himself. 

Suddenly, Will hears a strange, dull clicking noise, and a sharp, almost artificial intake of breath as the stranger with the familiar face above him pumped once on a platinum-plated inhaler fished out from a pocket, propelling the aerosol medication down into his lungs. 

"Hannibal does not cook for just anyone," he continued while meeting Hannibal's unflinching, observing eyes, watching his every move with guarded intensity. "You must be very special."

"I- I don't know about special -- uhm, Dr. Lecter?" Will looked sheepishly toward Hannibal for a reaction - a protest, an explanation - or any response at all, but the doctor didn't bat an eye or move a muscle from his relaxed posture. 

The only thing betraying any kind of emotion was one finger, tapping lightly - tensely, against the leather armrest.

"You came here for dinner," Le Chiffre remarks while continuing to stroke into Will's sweaty curls on the nape of his neck. "And if we consider Hannibal's dissatisfaction with my unannounced visit that he hides so poorly, one could guess he was planning to indulge in a tasty treat." 

" _Hngh_ ," Will grunts in surprise as Le Chiffre tugged on a fistful of his hair, forcing him to look up and Will complied - making himself see into the clouded and bloodshot, ruined left eye as he pictured all the horrible ways it could have ended up that way.

"I must ask. Have you crossed professional boundaries with your psychiatrist yet, Mr. Graham?" Le Chiffre continues, leaning down slightly to study Will's face. "Or maybe you just desire to? Hmm?"

"Will, you can tell him to stop," Hannibal says calmly from somewhere to Will's left. 

"I can offer you a way to cross those boundaries, without ever really crossing them at all," Le Chiffre says while dragging Will to his feet by his hair, earning him another protesting groan of pain. 

Will drops his drink on the carpeted floor with a soft thud, the glass rolling to a halt under the table. 

"Please," he mouthed wordlessly, not quite sure what he was begging for to the dark haired man whom he didn't know - but knew enough to know he should fear, but his voice was too familiar and its deeply rough tones were too alike the ones he listened to every day and trusted to guide him back from dark places. 

His hardening cock certainly couldn't tell the difference. 

"Will, you can make him stop," Hannibal repeats from his chair, still making no move to intervene.

Face to face with Le Chiffre, Will couldn't deny his growing arousal, realizing it was like looking at Hannibal, except _wrong_ , like a distorted fun house mirror image or a twisted photograph in a dream he couldn't quite recall. 

He brought a hand up to Le Chiffre's face to carefully run a finger from his left eyebrow down across his eyelid, tracing the line of the reddened, diagonal scar to the top of his cheekbone where it ended, bleeding out into spidery, blue veins. 

Le Chiffre closes his eyes, allowing Will's fingers to trail down his skin.

It looked to Will like a gift left behind by someone skilled with a very sharp blade; someone who drew their anger or their love upon his face like a tattoo - slicing, wounding and staining the skin permanently, it was a miracle his vision wasn't impaired.

"If you pretend I am him..." Le Chiffre spoke against his ear while releasing his painful grasp on his hair, that familiar yet unknown voice guiding him into the dark instead of out of it. "...I can pretend this -" a warm hand snaked its way down to Will's crotch, into his pants "- is just for me."

Will gasped loudly as Le Chiffre's hand closed around his cock and began stroking, achingly slow and meticulous, taking his time squeezing the head of his length until it hurt and Will felt completely at his mercy, near unraveling in his hand. 

"H-Hannibal," he managed to stutter out between inhales, wishing the hand around his cock belonged to Dr. Lecter, yet not wanting Le Chiffre to stop.

Hannibal watches them intently still, hands now digging into the leather armrests, blood pooling into his groin, engorging his cock and he shifted slightly in his seat despite himself. His disdain mixed with a newly emerging possessiveness made for an interesting cocktail paired with his arousal from watching Will - _his William_ \- being helplessly taken apart one handed, by a man who was his nearly identical mirror image, a physical reflection of himself. 

He felt as if he was watching a projection where the roll of film was scratched, close to ruin and torn in all the important places, distorting the image.

He'd certainly planned a seduction for this evening, but this new turn of events were, although unforeseen - becoming more interesting by the minute. He made a mental note not to undervalue the usefulness of his younger, more impulsive relative - and that perhaps the questionable quality of blindly following one's physical devices and fleeting urges like Le Chiffre was known to do, could be harnessed and roped into a more sophisticated tool.

"Or," he says low and carefully while finally rising from his seat and discarding his dark blue suit jacket, "we can leave the games of pretense for the amateurs," he finishes as he presses the entire length of his body into Will's back, his erection unequivocally grinding up against his ass even through layers of fabric, and letting his curved lips ghost across Will's already sensitive neck. 

Will's appreciative moan is muffled when Le Chiffre crushes his mouth against his, tasting of whisky and a faint, synthetic mint - his tongue rough and unrelenting as it licks into his mouth and tastes Will deeply. 

Le Chiffre's eyes never stray as he tongue-fucks Will's open mouth, caught in a quiet challenge with the man on the opposite side of the shuddering body between them, not taking kindly to being labeled an amateur.

"Lean into me, Will," Hannibal says against the reddening skin on his neck, sucking gently upwards and placing a trail of wet kisses below his earlobe. 

Leaning back into Hannibal's firm body, Will lets him take some of his body weight, feeling his warmth and his hard length pressing against his back, and his lips kissing, nipping, sucking his way back down his neck, to pause on his shoulder; a scratch of Hannibal's teeth against muscle as Le Chiffre takes his lower lip and bites, hard. 

"Shit," Will hisses as spikes of pain shoot through his lower mouth down through his chin, tasting the sudden warm, coppery flavor of his own blood from a split in his lip, but Le Chiffre's steady stroking quickly makes the pain melt away and blend into his pleasure and his breaths grows shallow and inelegantly raspy. 

"Careful," Hannibal's voice rumbles next to Will's ear, sending Le Chiffre a cautionary look, but he just smiles and removes Will's glasses with his free hand, tossing them out of the way. 

"Turn around," Hannibal orders softly.

With a scrape of fingernails against his cock, Le Chiffre lets him turn around to face Hannibal, keeping up his steady stroking from behind, pre-come easing some of the friction.

Hannibal takes Will's face in his hands, watching a drop of sweat run down his temple - cupping his jaw lightly and surveying his bleeding, quivering lower lip. "Let me see," he says, carefully thumbing at the small wound, smearing the red in the process. "You'll need stitches," he mumbles under his breath, earning a dark chuckle from Le Chiffre. 

Hannibal kisses Will softly, insistently until the torn skin stops bleeding, licking the light scruff along the sides of his mouth clean with studious effort while Will pants against his mouth. 

"Would you like to kneel for us, Will?" Hannibal whispers, a question that sounded more like a polite command, a loving nudge towards the edge.

Will answers with a quiet nod, pupils blown with arousal and head swimming lightly from the whiskey and he felt as if the fire place had grown hotter, except they hadn't moved at all. 

He lets himself drop slowly to his knees as soon as his cock is released of Le Chiffre's grip, and drags his hands down Le Chiffre's body; not skinny, but a touch leaner than Hannibal, though equally muscular.

Le Chiffre's smirk turns predatory and a small drop of blood trickles out from the tear duct of his damaged eye, and runs a red path down his cheek as he watches Will begin to undo his fly. 

Hannibal removes his pocket square and offers it to Le Chiffre, dark brown eyes cold and unblinking. "The only blood I want to see spilled tonight are the tears caused by your unfortunate ocular condition. Do you understand?" he says matter-of-factly as Le Chiffre dries the blood away. 

"Your wish is my command, Doctor," Le Chiffre nods void of humor in reply, and slips the bloodied handkerchief in his pocket before a grunt escapes his lips - shiny eyelids fluttering shut.

Will takes Le Chiffre in his mouth, letting his bruised lips suck him down deeply, repaying him by making sure his teeth rasped and dragged along his length, teetering right on the brink of unpleasant pain, while taking Hannibal in his hand. 

He works Hannibal's cock carefully, slowly, taking care to stroke with the right squeeze of his fist, flicking his thumb over the wet tip and Hannibal caresses the back of his head in a loving gesture, enjoying the pace. 

Will feels exposed and vulnerable - naked yet he was fully clothed - his knees digging into the soft carpeting and his jaw going slack around the length in his mouth, trembling lightly in the heat and with the effort of pleasing two men at once while putting aside his own need for release.

Le Chiffre groans from somewhere deep in his chest and fists a hand back in Will's hair, forcing him to choke himself on his length, taking him all the way down and violently increasing the pace. 

Will panics a little as his airway is obstructed and his gag reflex burns in protests, hollow choking noises rushing up from his compressed lungs straining for air. "That is enough," Hannibal says, making Le Chiffre release his grip on Will's head and he gasps for oxygen - falling down on all fours, desperately attempting to gain control of his breathing.

Le Chiffre licks his lips, sweat gathering on his brow beneath strands of dark hair. He watches Hannibal redo his pants and bend down to check on his patient, sadistic amusement playing on the corner of his mouth. 

"I'm alright, it's fine," Will says reassuringly and stands up, letting Hannibal push the disheveled curls away from his eyes.

"You're sure?" Hannibal asks and Will nods with a look toward Le Chiffre, a darkness brewing in his diluted pupils.

Will grabs Le Chiffre's abandoned drink from the table and winces slightly as he swallows the golden liquid down between his split and bruised lips.

"I think dinner's gonna be delayed for a while, Dr. Lecter."

 

**


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Le Chiffre felt a desire to chip away at this man's marble facade to free what pulsated beneath, and he imagined Hannibal felt exactly the same. He'd dealt himself a good hand and simply needed to play his high pairs at the right time, finding his victory in watching the marble crumble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is just porn. More plot comes later, not that anyone is complaining. :)

"Easy, my boy," Le Chiffre laughs breathlessly. "This shirt is Brioni."

"I'm not a boy," Will snarls out between clenched teeth as he tore at the silky, dark red fabric. "And I'm definitely not yours."

"No, you are not," Le Chiffre agrees, sending an illusive look toward Hannibal, who was closing the bedroom door and turning slowly to face the two of them. 

"You are a lucky man, Doctor."

"I know," Hannibal says without pause and walks to sit down on a small sofa next to another oversized bookshelf, crossing his legs and observing an excellent view of his bed. He pours himself a glass of a young Cabernet, experimentally swirling the dark liquid around in the glass by its stem.

The bedroom was modest and low-key compared to the rest of the house, kept in muted hues of grey with nothing out of place or any superfluous objects. 

Will feels Hannibal's eyes on them as he watches Le Chiffre make quick work of stripping himself of his tailored clothing, revealing a tight pair of briefs that only served to accentuate his fully erect cock. 

"There's that, heh - family resemblance again," Will says with a glance downward, the time spent with his knees digging into Hannibal's carpeting earlier that night still clear in mind - earning a hollow chuckle from Le Chiffre who drops his clothing unceremoniously on the floor and crushes their mouths together, claiming Will's swollen lips again. 

Le Chiffre touches himself through his briefs while angling his head down so he grazed the small wound with every swerve of his tongue, and Will tried desperately to ignore how the stinging, pulsating pain his lip went straight to his cock. He was unsure if he liked the thought of himself enjoying being on the receiving end of pain as much as he apparently did, never having considered the idea appealing before.

Maybe he should have, Will thought as he realized his mind had yet to stray towards thoughts of this week's case even once the whole evening. Distractions, indeed.

Le Chiffre seemed to have no problem with making him bleed, in fact - the man was clearly getting off on inflicting a little suffering. Will wondered briefly if this, as well as certain other things - also ran in the family, and caught himself wishing - yet not entertaining much hope.

Le Chiffre pulls back and Will pants obscenely as he tugs on his own half-undone plaid shirt, yearning for skin-on-skin contact, but Hannibal interrupts his actions, voice low and commanding. 

"No. Let him undress you, Will."

Hannibal takes a slow sip of wine and watches Le Chiffre take his time undressing the slightly younger man. He undoes the shirt buttons one after the other, slight crinkles of amusement gathering on the outer edge of his eyes - even his injured eye seemed more alive, reflecting the dim lighting in the room like still, murky water.

Le Chiffre opens Will's shirt like he's unwrapping a gift, and traces his strong abdomen with one finger, trailing down his stomach and stopping to undo his belt and fly, letting gravity do the rest of the work to unveil a pair of tight, blue boxers.

Will keeps his eyes locked on Hannibal's, an impenetrable, carefully constructed bond, as his clothing - and forts fall. 

Le Chiffre hesitantly wipes his sweaty upper lip with the back of his hand as he sees Will's eyes traveling, all his attention directed elsewhere and suddenly - a flash of rage ignites his face and he violently pushes Will's shirt down over his biceps - effectively locking his arms behind his back - and shoves him onto the bed with a grunt, using the full weight of his body to regain a perceived control.

"Ow, fuck," Will hisses as Le Chiffre straddles him and pins him down with both hands, one thigh on either side of Will's hips - uncomfortably trapping his arms under his body and Will bucks upward to get him off, but Le Chiffre is stronger than he looks. 

"Watch that talented tongue of yours, Mr. Graham," he whispers roughly, sneering crudely.

He leans down and claims Will's mouth in a quick, sloppy kiss before running large hands down Will's trembling arms, and moving down his taunt body to flick his tongue over one pink, flushed nipple. "Ahh," Will moans audibly as Le Chiffre slowly circles his nipple and tastes his sweat, sucking and rasping sharp teeth on the sensitive skin.

Hannibal empties his glass and uncrosses his legs, spreading them wider apart on the sofa while tugging his tie loose with studious, controlled movements, eyes fixed on Will's sweat-soaked, body quivering under Le Chiffre and the uncomfortably forced, restrained position on the bed. 

Hannibal removes his tie and rolls it into a perfect bundle before taking off his vest and rising to put the items carefully away in an extravagant wardrobe closet nearby. He sits back down and curiously listens to the beautiful, ragged noises emerging from Will's throat just when Le Chiffre bites down on a puckered nipple, intently memorizing the edge of agony in his moans and storing them away in his mind for safekeeping. 

He unbuttons his shirt collar and palms his erection absentmindedly, entirely focused on the younger man unraveling in front of him, beneath the spitting image of himself - finding the display uniquely satisfying.

Will breathes a sigh of relief as Le Chiffre finally pulls away from his sore nipples, only to have the exhale stopped short by a hand around his neck while the other drags his boxers down and off, exposing his leaking cock.

"N-no," Will whispers from his constricted trachea, protesting another attempt to choke him into submission. He writhes beneath the other man, wrestling with the shirt caught around his elbows, tugging to get free. "Get off me," he struggles out between choked breaths.

"What?" Le Chiffre asks, grinning wide. "I didn't quite catch that."

"I said, _get off me_ \- while you still have one good eye left," Will nearly growls out between clenched teeth, and quickly uses Le Chiffre's stunned silence to his advantage, showing himself upward while hooking his legs around the other man's body and using the momentum to flip him over.

Hannibal stops stroking himself for a brief moment and wets his lips, holding his breath and stilling himself so he doesn't unravel and make a mess in his hand - it wasn't time yet.

Le Chiffre lets go of his throat and falls back, giving a surprised huff while still smiling devilishly up at Will, amused by his initiative and catching a brief glimpse of something mad; something darker in the other man's starkly blue eyes.

Le Chiffre felt a desire to chip away at this man's marble facade to free what pulsated beneath, and he imagined Hannibal felt exactly the same. He'd dealt himself a good hand and simply needed to play his high pairs at the right time, finding his victory in watching the marble crumble.

"Wow, I'm impressed," he pants in mock-praise while Will finally frees his arms from his shirt, throwing it aside and looks down at Le Chiffre with renewed fighting spirit, wet curls clinging to his forehead. "Was that part of your training at the bureau, Mr. F. B. I?" he continues and grabs Will's ass with both hands, spreading his cheeks and digging into the flesh.

He stares up at Will with lazily hooded eyes, one darkly brown and one a sick greenish-gray, its dull, lifeless shine the only visual aid in the dark for Will to remember this wasn't his psychiatrist. His voice was ever so strangely akin to Hannibal's, yet the words were mocking, arrogant and vile. It was... Disorienting.

"Such _spirit_."

"Shut up," Will replies, trying to keep his trembling under control and grabs both Le Chiffre's wrists to yank his hands up and away from his ass, spreading his arms to his sides and pinning them there like a sinner on a cross. "You really need to stop talking so much, it's not doing you any favors."

"It would seem our mutual friend is growing impatient," Le Chiffre says to Hannibal's dark shape on the sofa. "Which makes two of us."

Will turns expectantly towards his doctor only to see a smirk playing on Hannibal's lips and his eyes glinting in the semi-darkness against the nearly iridescent white of his dress shirt, while he continued to stroke himself. 

"Patience is a virtue, my good Will," he says soothingly.

"Please, Hannibal -" Will protests, voice low and tinged with desperation. 

"Not yet," Hannibal interrupts and takes his hand out from his pants to lean forward, elbows on his knees, eyes unblinking. "I want you to do to him, what you wish - here, right now - you could do to me. Use him to show me. I will tell you when to stop."

Le Chiffre fights back an undignified moan as Will obeys by softly tonguing his lips apart, not violently but lovingly, licking into his mouth and wanting to taste him and keep him. 

"Good," Hannibal says from somewhere in the gloom.

Will slowly drags Le Chiffre's briefs down his legs and kisses the pale skin next to his hip bone, lovemarks not intended for him. Le Chiffre sneers slightly at the gesture, but his cock twitches in response and he feels a disgust brewing at the sentimentality, but lets himself be used - a replaceable pawn in Hannibal's mind games.

When Will grabs his cock and aligns his length with his own, fisting them slowly together and leaning down to continue placing gentle kisses on his face, Le Chiffre figures he didn't very much mind being the pawn for the time being.

Le Chiffre grinds his hips upwards, aiding to the increasing friction between Will's rough palm and their cocks and Will nudges his head back, placing little bites and leaving glistening touches of saliva along his neck and jawline. 

Hannibal hears the effect his instructions and Will's obeying, shifting actions - from merely fucking to _making love_ \- were having on Le Chiffre, and he feels smugly satisfied he's shown him exactly what he cannot have, - and it was time for the victor to collect his spoils.

He undoes the last buttons on his dress shirt, leaving the white fabric to hang open while he stands up and walks to the side of the bed, undoing his belt in the process. He stands tall, surveying the two sweating, breathless bodies on his bed and gently runs his fingers through Will's damp curls, caressing his head and coaxing him to sit up.

"Hhhm," Will moans appreciatively as Hannibal leans down to kiss him, thumbing at his jaw and smelling Le Chiffre on him, his scent on his skin and his taste in his mouth. Hannibal pulls back to look at Le Chiffre and then back to Will.

"Will?" he asks, eyes trained on the deep, red mark on Will's lip where Le Chiffre bit earlier. "Tell me who you want inside you."

Le Chiffre watches the exchange from where he was lying on the bed, beneath Will's trembling form, curiously anticipating Will's reply, even though he was fairly sure he already knew the answer.

"You," Will says unsteadily next to Hannibal's lips. "I want you. I-I _need_ you."

Hannibal's smirk sends further shivers down Will's spine while he takes two offered fingers in his mouth, sucking on them with an obscene, wet noise, coating them with his spit.

Satisfied, Hannibal brings one knee up to lean on the bed while carefully rolling up his sleeves and running one hand down Will's back, the other using the wetted fingers to slowly circle around his hole, prodding and easing into his tight opening.

"F-fuck," Will gasps as Hannibal inserts one finger inside him, the saliva not nearly enough to ease the burn, yet desperately yearning for more; to be filled and fucked.

Le Chiffre watches the profiler nearly come undone above him with a certain restrained fascination at just how deeply Hannibal affected him; controlled him; owned him so purely that the physical aspect was an afterthought.

A twitch curves Le Chiffre's mouth as Hannibal removes his finger from Will's ass and replaces it with his tongue, spreading his ass further open and teasing around his hole, preparing him lovingly and studiously, causing the younger man to nearly lose the last, frayed remains of his composure. 

"Ahh, Hannibal, I --" Will pants, eyes closed with intense pleasure, the overwhelming sensations quickly closing in on being too much. "Stop, please - I-I'm gonna come if you don't stop," he says, writhing under Hannibal's touch.

Hannibal pulls back far enough to reach for the lube in his night stand drawer, and finally removes his suit trousers and shirt, dark gray chest hair emphasizing a broad, muscular torso. 

"Turn over, please," he says, and Will climbs off Le Chiffre to lie down on his back beside him, crumpling the already damp sheets. "I want to see you," Hannibal continues while coating his length efficiently with lubrication and positioning himself between Will's spread thighs, bending his legs back.

Le Chiffre kneels on the bed next to Will's head, stroking himself while black strands of sweaty hair clung to his forehead and watched Will's ragged breaths leave his lungs. 

Will's chest was soaked, sweat running down his skin to darken the sheets further while his painfully erect cock bopped against his taunt abdominal muscles. "H-Hannibal, _please_..."

Hannibal enters Will completely, filling his ass with his cock to the base before pulling back and violently shoving back in, setting a quickly increasing pace that Le Chiffre mirrored with his hand on his own length. 

Will grabs a hold on Hannibal's neck and gives up trying to control his trembling and audible fulfillment, gasping harshly every time Hannibal's cock hits his prostate with expert precision. Suddenly, Le Chiffre's hand pulls his head sideways towards him, and Will obliges - opening his mouth, allowing Le Chiffre to fuck himself into his throat, stifling his moans.

Le Chiffre nearly matches Hannibal's pace but pays heed to not restrict Will's oxygen too much this time, holding his neck simply for leverage as Will vigorously sucks him deep, the motion created from the sheer force of Hannibal fucking into him reverberating up through Le Chiffre's cock.

He feels a familiar warmth building in his left tear duct, but simply lets the blood pool there until gravity intervenes and the drop trails down his cheek as if in slow-motion and falls to land on Will's cheek, bulging out from the length down his throat.

Hannibal swiftly leans down without stopping his relentless pounding to clean the stray drop of blood on Will's face off with his thumb, bringing it up to his lips and licking it off. He sends Le Chiffre a look Will doesn't understand or even notice, too exhausted; ravaged and close to orgasm to care.

Le Chiffre momentarily holds his breath in mild confusion as Hannibal forcefully yanks his face toward him and tongues at the small trail of blood on his cheek, licking it all up until it's gone and placing a small kiss beneath his eye where his scar ended - a mark of love, this one reserved especially for the man whose blood was his own.

Le Chiffre comes in Will's mouth with a grunt, spilling himself inside and around his bruised lips and lying back against the headrest to catch his breath, sweat-slicked chest heaving up and down. 

"Hannibal, I'm gonna - _Ahh_ , I-I'm..." Will whimpers with strained vocal chords as Hannibal fists his dick while angling his thrusts deeper; and Will comes in white, hot bursts on his own stomach, eyes glazing over and blurring the world. 

Hannibal's pace speeds up, hair completely disheveled yet falling in a neat row over his eyes, drinking up Will's pained bliss as he fucks into him once, twice - and peaks at the third - coming hard and fast inside Will with a shuddering spasm of every muscle in his body, collapsing on Will's chest with a deep, guttural groan. 

Will wipes his sticky stomach contentedly as Hannibal pulls out and rolls over to relax at his side, watching the other man's chest rise and fall as his pulse came down - while his own heart rate seemed to have barely strayed above resting.

Le Chiffre sits with his back turned on the other end of the bed, searching his suit pant pockets for his inhaler - a soft click, and a hollow intake of air as the medicine works to soothe his overworked lungs. 

"Go to sleep, Will," Hannibal says in almost a hushed whisper, and Will nods slowly with his eyes fluttering shut, turning over on his side with exhaustion evident on his face.

"I have to go," Le Chiffre says as his breathing normalizes, and he picks up his discarded clothing from the floor to get dressed.

"Let me walk you out," Hannibal says and wraps a robe around himself, before lifting the covers on the bed and placing them carefully over Will's resting form, eyes closed and lips slightly parted as sleep overtook his senses - damp curls forming a dark halo around his head on the white pillows.

 

**

 

"Tell me what happened in Montenegro," Hannibal says while taking the pan roasted dinner out of the pre-set oven, leaving it to cool on the counter. "But first, can I offer you something to eat?"

Le Chiffre glances briefly at the delicate slice of glazed meat bathed in a transparent oil with what appeared to be roasted pearl onions and green peppercorns. "No, thank you," he answers with a smile. "Let's just say... I made a bad investment."

"And you acted rashly to fix the problem?"

"My hand was forced, by an agent of the British Government."

"Did you kill him?"

"No. But - I may have killed his chances of ever having children."

"The lack of finesse in your methods never ceases to amaze," Hannibal chuckles, and wipes his hands on a cloth. 

"Finesse? Is that what you're using to train your new pet?"

Hannibal ignores the comment. "You left a British spy alive after torturing him?"

"He had information I needed to access my funds. I still have a chance to salvage my good reputation with the clients I owe, but he's frozen all my assets and is very likely monitoring my accounts."

Hannibal sighs, mildly irritated and leads Le Chiffre into the hallway. "You're asking me for a loan?"

"You know I'm good for for it, and you will be fully reimbursed, with interest," Le Chiffre replies while placing his coat neatly over his arm.

Hannibal seems to consider his words for a moment, pursing his lips thoughtfully. "I can take care of it, but it will not be a loan. I want you to consider it payment."

"Payment?" Le Chiffre asks curiously. "Payment for what?"

"I was rude to insult your methods. There is a time and a place for them," Hannibal explains, voice low and insistent, even though no one else could hear. "I have... A business proposal I think you will appreciate, concerning a mutual friend. There could be risks involved. Call it a special favor."

Le Chiffre smiles, knowingly. "High stakes are my specialty."

"Do we have an agreement?" Hannibal says with a tilt of his head.

"Anything for family," Le Chiffre courtesies with a nod, offering a handshake to seal the deal and Hannibal accepts it with a firm grip, then watches Le Chiffre turn to leave with an earnest look, eyes fiery with intent.

"If I may offer a word of advice to you, Hannibal?" Le Chiffre says with deliberate condescension, turning around in the doorway to face him with a playful grin, made twisted by his disfigurement. 

"You should be careful around Will Graham. _He's your tell_."

 

**


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There was no posing of the body, no trophies taken, no signs of torture or sadism, it was just - clean. Efficient," Will says with a humorless smile. "He's not a psychopath."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your continued reading and kind words. <3

_Hotel Monaco, Baltimore MD_ \- 4:43 AM

  


"You found him like this?" Le Chiffre asks with an irritated twitch of his lips as he bends down to survey the body on the floor of the opulent hotel room.

"Yes, sir. We didn't see anyone else."

"Useless," Le Chiffre spits and removes a handgun from the dead henchman's jacket, palming the heavy steel thoughtfully before slipping it into his own belt. 

"Whoever got him was a pro. Used a suppressor, probably a Walther P99."

Le Chiffre steps over the corpse and stops by the large windows facing the city, surveying the cold, empty streets below, the hard edges of his face illuminated by a sick glow.

"It's Bond."

 

**

 

Will wakes to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and rubs the short, but surprisingly restful sleep out of his eyes, blinking in the soft morning light at Hannibal who places a tray on the bed beside him.

"Breakfast in bed?" Will asks drowsily, sitting up to face him with a slight ache in his muscles, last night's events flooding back into memory. "You shouldn't have."

Hannibal smiles and unscrews a small pot of honey on the tray, and sits back to sip at a cup of his own coffee, gently blowing at the steam. "Crêpes salées with cold cuts of roasted ham from last night's untouched dinner. Your choice of sweet or salty."

"Pancakes?" Will says and grabs the knife and fork. "Great, I'm starving."

"How did you sleep?"

"Best sleep I've had in weeks," Will says earnestly in between mouthfuls and suddenly seems to realize there were only two of them in the room. "Where's Le Chiffre?"

"He had to leave after you fell asleep," Hannibal answers and straightens out a perceived wrinkle in his morning robe. "He said something about a business meeting."

"In the middle of the night?"

"Money never sleeps."

"Right, of course," Will nods with a brief chuckle. "How long is he in town for?"

"I don't know," Hannibal says with a small sigh, looking thoughtfully down into his cup. "He didn't say."

"Something wrong?" Will asks, brows furrowed slightly, picking up on an air of reluctance.

"The reason for his visit was to ask me for a loan. I refused on principle, because I won't be a part of supporting his addiction."

"Addiction?" Will asks curiously.

"Le Chiffre has a penchant for gambling with money he doesn't have, and while he may be good with numbers, sometimes the cards just aren't in his favor."

"Wow," Will says quietly, finishing the food on his plate and distractedly thumbing at the healing wound on his lower lip. "I understand why you refused. How'd he take it?"

"Decently. He may have his vices, but he's a good man," Hannibal says with a sip of his coffee. "I hope he finds the help he needs."

Will nods in silence, checking the time on the clock on the night stand. "I should get to work, or I'm gonna be late -"

"We still have time for a shower," Hannibal interjects and stands up to place the tray on a table by the door.

" _We_?" Will's face breaks into a rare grin, eyebrows raised in amusement as he watches Hannibal begin untying his robe, disappearing into the en suite bathroom. 

"Yes, we. I can assist you in getting to those hard-to-reach places."

 

**

 

"White male, mid-thirties, single gunshot wound to the head execution style," Beverly says and inspects the body lying prone on the floor with gloved hands. "No signs of a struggle, either."

"He used an alias to pay for the room, but DNA says his real name is Victor Lumani and he's got an impressive record," Jack says and guides Will further into the hotel room. "Mostly misdemeanors and a suspected bank robbery in 2005."

"So he's a thug," Will remarks flatly. "You don't need me to tell you that, Jack. Why am I here?" He rubs his neck absentmindedly and glances around the expensive hotel room to let his eyes rest on the large windows, noting they weren't far from the city's inner harbor. He liked being close to the water.

"You're right," Jack says. "Considering the kind of thing we usually deal with, this runs fairly average, but it's still unusual circumstances and I need you to tell me what you see."

Will nods with a sigh, and Jack signals for the crime scene investigators to leave the room. Beverly stops by his side before leaving, noticing the wound on his lip, light bruising staining its edges.

"You okay?" she asks, mild concern apparent in her voice.

"I'm fine," Will replies with a genuine smile. "I, uh - didn't get that much sleep."

"Bad dreams?"

Will huffs breathlessly and takes his glasses off. "For once, no."

She closes the door behind her and he is left alone to visualize the past, piecing the facts together in his mind to form a coherent image and he closes his eyes, and inhales - once, twice - and opens them again to a room heightened in color, sound, and smell. 

He walks with footsteps that aren't his own.

"I know who this man is, and I know I'm going to kill him before I even enter the room. I came here to do a job."

Distant, distorted voices of two men echo in Will's mind. 

"There is... a confrontation. I expected this and I point the barrel of my gun on his kneecaps. I need information, but he's not giving me what I want so I intimidate him."

The voices grow a little louder, angrier.

"He doesn't respond to intimidation, he's heard it all before. He's loyal. I've reached a dead end, and I know what I have to do when his right hand goes for his concealed weapon."

A hollow pop.

"I pull the trigger and watch him crumple to the ground, blood flowing from between his eyes. It's a perfect hit, and I never miss my mark. I am _very_ good at what I do."

Will's eyes flutter open with a gasp, and around him the room has returned to normal. He waits for the usual physical reaction that usually followed, a violent shiver or a pounding in his chest that wouldn't cease for hours but finds himself remarkably calm.

Jack opens the door behind him, and walks to stand beside him - an inquisitive look on his face.

"Did you find a gun on the victim?" Will asks.

"No, nothing."

"Someone else besides our shooter must have been here, probably whoever our victim was working for. You should dust for prints, but I doubt you'll find anything."

"What else do you have for me, Will?"

"This was... professional. The killer came here to do a job, and this guy -" Will gesticulates toward the body on the floor, "- was standing in his way."

"Are we looking for a hitman? A hired killer?"

"No, his work didn't end here. He was looking for information. This feels almost - " Will pauses for a moment, searching for the right word. "It feels justified."

"You're saying this killer wasn't a bad guy?" Jack asks in a tone of voice that was distinctly laced with skepticism. 

"I'm saying," Will continues. "Whoever did this wasn't necessarily bad. He wasn't angry when he shot this man and he didn't _enjoy_ killing him"

Jack turns to look at the body. "Putting a 9mm bullet in someone's brain sounds pretty angry to me, Will."

"Our victim may have gotten a 9mm bullet in his brain, but I think the real bad guy you should be looking for is his boss."

 

**

 

Will spends most of his 7.30 PM session with Hannibal trying to respect his rule about keeping intimacy out of their appointments - "this time is for your mind and your mind alone, the body can wait" - and he attempts to focus solely on the conversation at hand. 

"Will? Did you hear what I said?"

"Yes, sorry," Will apologizes, clearly not able to gather his focus for very long.

Hannibal sends him a look from the chair opposite him, - the one Will fondly thought of as the concerned psychiatrist - and attempts to restart his line of questioning, an itching insistence in the back of his mind telling him the answers Will could unknowingly give him could prove themselves very useful. 

"How did you feel when you saw this killer's methods?"

"Calm," Will says with an ironic lift of his eyebrows. "I had no physical reaction to what I saw this time. My pulse barely elevated. It was disturbingly easy to look."

"Feeling calm disturbs you?"

"Yes! It shouldn't be easy. That makes it... routine."

"But it is your routine. It's your job."

" _His_ job has become routine to him, too. Killing people is his norm."

Hannibal thoughtfully gathers his hands together in his lap, watching his patient and lover with restrained intrigue. "And if looking into dark places becomes routine for you - like taking lives has become for this killer, you fear you'll lose some part of your humanity."

"Something like that," Will says and rubs the back of his neck with his hand, the head aches he'd almost begun to hope were gone threatening to make their return, blooming beneath his grey matter and creeping into his skull.

"Why do you think he does it? What was the motive?"

"He doesn't do it for pleasure, that's certain. He's not evil, or - he doesn't feel evil. There was no posing of the body, no trophies taken, no signs of torture or sadism, it was just - clean. Efficient," Will says with a humorless smile. "He's not a psychopath."

"He just kills people for a living," Hannibal remarks pointedly and rises from his chair. "Who was the victim?" he asks and lets his eyes slowly wander to the phone lying on the brown, polished surface of his desk, before leaning on its edge and facing Will.

Inwardly, he cursed Le Chiffre's carelessness.

"He was some lowlife, a thug for hire," Will replies, absentmindedly picking at the leather armrests.

"Did knowing that make his death easier to see?"

"Knowing that makes it easier to believe that not all people who kill are killers. Evil acts are not always committed by evil people. Sometimes, they're just necessary."

Hannibal checks his watch and sees their session has exceeded the hour. "Well, we can continue this tomorrow," he says with a satisfied nod.

Will shifts in his chair, stretching his back muscles with a groan when suddenly a pair of large, warm hands begin rubbing into his shoulders from behind. "I thought you said -" Will begins, somewhat startled.

"Our hour is finished," Hannibal replies, massaging into the other man's tightly-wound muscles in slow, circular motions, paying special attention to the neck.

Will sighs loudly, closing his eyes and soon relaxes into the touch, feeling a wash of tension leave his body. "You're, uh, really good at this, Doctor." He thinks only of the strong, healing hands massaging into his skin and doesn't notice when the door reserved for exiting patients on the far side of the office glides open, and a tall man in a black coat walks in.

He points a suppressed Walther P99 directly on his mark with ice cold precision, starkly blue eyes narrowing with intent.

Hannibal's grip on Will's shoulders tightens suddenly to a nearly uncomfortable degree, and Will's eyes open in confusion. "What -" he begins, but his words get caught in his throat.

Hannibal's hands fall away from Will as he takes a calculated step backwards, suddenly finding himself staring down the barrel of a gun, aimed by the same person who killed a man not 24 hours ago - 

\- aimed by Le Chiffre's mistake.

"Pardon my intrusion gentlemen," the man says with a distinguished English accent, yet the words were layered with brutal practicality. 

"But please, keep your hands where I can see them."

 

**

 

"I only have one question," the stranger says calmly. "Where is Le Chiffre?"

Will leaps to his feet and instinctively reaches for his sidearm, but quickly remembers that it's stored safely away in a locker on federal grounds.

"Easy," the man says. "I have no quarrel with you, and I'd rather not have to shoot an unarmed man."

"W-who are you?" Will asks in a trembling voice while subconsciously moving his own body in front of Hannibal, arms outstretched toward the intruder in a diplomatic stance, shielding his doctor without thinking twice. 

"Hotel Monaco," the man replies with a small quirk of his lips. 

"He's the killer from the hotel," Hannibal states, brown eyes glittering intelligently, letting Will remain as his human shield for the time being. "Our efficient hitman."

The man chuckles darkly at the term, but doesn't offer any correction in response.

"I don't know where Le Chiffre is, I'm sorry," Hannibal finishes, unflinchingly returning the other man's glare. "And, there is no need for threats when we are clearly willing to have a civil conversation with you. Please, put the gun away, Mr...?"

The blonde man considers the request, surveying the doctor and his considerably frightened but courageous patient and eventually lowers the weapon. "Bond. James Bond," he replies and takes a couple steps into the room, keeping both exits in view and the desk as a formative barrier between him and them.

Hannibal notices with concealed amusement that the spy Le Chiffre made the mistake of letting live kept glancing at him, probably in recognition of their familial similarities, except with one obvious difference. If Bond was uneasy, he certainly hid it well.

"You killed that man in the hotel," Will says tentatively, knowing they would not make it out alive if the other man started shooting. "Because you were looking for... _Le Chiffre_."

"Why are you looking for my cousin?" Hannibal asks, confusion painted deftly on his face, voice tinged with worry.

Bond furrows his brows, trying to gauge if these men were lying or telling the truth, but all his instincts and intel told him they could be trusted. "You honestly don't know, do you?" he asks. 

"He's wanted in numerous countries - including this one, for financing and profiting from acts of terrorism. I've been tracking him and his men since he eluded capture in Montenegro."

"Terrorism?" Will asks, eyes wide at the ridiculousness of the accusation.

"That is utterly absurd. Why should we believe you, Mr. Bond? Do you have any evidence to support these claims?" Hannibal asks defensively while knowing exactly what answer to expect.

"I'm sure your friends with the FBI can shed some light on the matter," Bond says with a nod towards Will. 

"I'm certain he's here in the city, and he's probably quite the desperate man by now - and desperate means unpredictable," he continues while expertly removing the silencer from his gun and sliding it into a holster beneath his coat.

"He probably won't contact you again, but if he does - let your government know he's on American soil. Trust me, you don't want to know what this man is capable of."

He exits out the same door he entered, and it glides shut behind him with a quiet creak.

 

**

 

"I have to go, I have to let Jack know," Will says, struggling to keep some semblance of composure while pulling his jacket around himself.

"Of course. You should call him on the way," Hannibal replies as he sits on the chair by his desk, a disheartened look clouding his face. 

Will stops his fussing with his jacket suddenly and turns toward his doctor. "Oh god - are _you_ okay?

Hannibal stares intently at his clasped hands on his desk, shaking his head in silence. "When Le Chiffre visited after all these years - for a moment, I entertained the thought that it was to reconcile our relationship. He is my only family, after all."

"He never said anything suspicious to you?"

"Never. I feel quite foolish, Will."

Will leans down to place his hand on top of Hannibal's, clasped together on the desk, in a quiet act of reassurance.

"You couldn't have known. Hannibal, you said it yourself - you hadn't seen him in over a decade."

"I allowed him into my house, Will. I -- allowed him to touch _you_."

"I let him too," Will says dejectedly, before turning around toward the door. "I'll call Jack from my car, and we'll figure this out. We don't actually know if that guy was telling the truth."

Hannibal sends him a weakened smile as he leaves, and listens for the main entrance door shutting and the faint hum of a starting engine.

Satisfied, he reaches into a pocket for a small piece of paper, and dials the numbers written on it into his phone, rising from the chair to stride serenely toward the fireplace, tossing the crumpled paper into the coals. 

There's a click as the other end of the line goes active, and he watches the glowing embers reignite and devour its new fuel as he speaks.

"It's time." 

 

**

 

"Come on, come on -"

Will fumbles with his cell phone as he speeds out onto MD-295, en route to Quantico. It was snowing fairly heavily, decreasing visibility in the dark and he decides to focus on maneuvering the car safely on the road, leaving the phone on the passenger seat. 

The highway is practically empty, save for one car behind him, keeping a safe distance in the poor conditions. He passes Elkridge and both sides of the road are swallowed by deep woods, and he turns the heating up while fighting a shiver. 

Will reaches over to the passenger seat for his phone but as he straightens back up he is blinded by bright headlights from behind, and momentarily swerves on the slippery road.

"Shit -" he exclaims as he fights with the lack of traction and blinks rapidly to recover his sight, and he thinks for a second he got away unscathed - when the car behind rams into the side of his car, sending him spinning out of control and Will feels a strange, peaceful stillness as he realizes there is nothing he can do to stop what will happen.

 _This is a dream_ \- 

\- is the last thing that runs through Will Graham's mind before the car skids down the highway and crashes sideways into a tree, the deafening sounds of twisting metal and shattered glass overwhelming his senses - and he sees black.

A thin blanket of snow settles on the ruined vehicle while ruthless hands work to drag Will's body out of the wreckage, leaving a trail of dripping blood on the wet ground.

 

**


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I do it with a scalpel," he begins, voice steady through trembling lips, and in his mind he is free from his restraints and wielding a sharp, beautiful blade. "It has to be sharp enough to part the skin exactly the way I want it to, and this one -" the scalpel shines in blinding light, "- is my favorite."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Physical and psychological torture and dub-con warnings for this chapter.

The doorbell rings three times, followed by insistent knocking on the front door as Hannibal goes to open it, anticipating a visit from the Agent-in-Charge at the BSU. 

"It's Will Graham," Jack Crawford says hurriedly, making no move to come inside, his expression grave with worry etched into the lines of his face. "He's missing."

"Missing?" Hannibal repeats, effortlessly mimicking his worry.

"Have you heard from him? When was the last time you saw him, Doctor?

Hannibal shakes his head with a downtrodden, bewildered look. "He left our appointment last night, as per usual. He said he needed to see you, Jack. How do you know he's missing?"

"We found his car wrecked and abandoned by the side of the road on the interstate to Quantico. No sign of Will, just - his blood," Jack says and sighs.

"How do you know he's been taken? He could be lost, or hurt. Perhaps a passerby called an ambulance - have you checked the local hospitals?"

"No hospital has admitted anyone matching Will's description. And judging by the tire tracks, it looks like someone intentionally ran him off the road. Did he tell you why he was coming to see me?"

Hannibal inhales slowly, as if overcome by overwhelming shock at a sudden realization and he grips for the door as if holding on to it for support.

"...Dr. Lecter? What is it?" 

"I think I may know who's responsible."

 

**

 

Will is startled awake by a freezing cold bucket of ice water poured onto his chest and body, drenching his clothes and he tries to shield himself but he finds himself unable to move. He gasps deeply for air, the cold shock to his system sending him into a fit of spluttering tremors. 

There is a blinding pain in his scalp, and his ribs ache with every expanse of breath - probably a few of them broken - as he instantly fights to free his hands, but they're tightly bound behind his back with something course and rough enough to pinch the skin when he struggles against it.

"He's awake," a man's voice says from somewhere in front of him, and Will fights for his eyes to regain their focus, blinking rapidly and he tries to calm his breathing and find the source of the voice. 

A balding man in a cheap suit stares straight at him, his hand touching his right ear. "Yes, sir," he says calmly, and procures a phone from an inside pocket, placing a call and setting it down on a small, wooden table.

"Where am I? W-who are you?" Will stutters out between pale lips, trying to remember how he got here but failing - thinking hurt too much, and his skull felt like it would split open and spill all its contents on the concrete floor at any moment if he moved too much.

"I'm gonna need you to make some noise for me, son," the man whispers quietly while steadying him by his shoulder and pushing two fingers into the approximate location of the fracture in his ribs.

It feels like his bones are crumbling and disintegrating from within and Will shuts his eyes, the smell of salt water and rust itching in his nose and listens to his own hoarse scream as if it was coming from someone else.

 

**

 

Hannibal greets Alana in silence as they gather in Jack's office, their expressions reflecting the gravity of the situation. 

"Tell her what you told me in the car, Doctor," Jack says and sits down behind his desk with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as he attempted to make sense of the information at hand. He tries to keep thoughts of Miriam's disappearance at bay, but they were heavy and hard to fight.

"During my session with Will last night," Hannibal begins, recollecting the past day and selectively sharing what he wanted them to know. "A man who called himself Mr. Bond came to my office, asking for the whereabouts of my cousin, Le Chiffre who paid me an unexpected but brief visit a couple days ago. This Mr. Bond claimed to be tracking Le Chiffre and presented some disturbing information about the true nature of his work. Naturally, I questioned these claims --"

"What kind of claims?" Alana asked, hands firmly crossed over her chest in a defensive stance - protecting herself against what she might learn and protecting Jack from seeing her turbulent emotions and nagging anxiety for Will.

"He said Le Chiffre was wanted internationally for financing acts of terrorism."

"I made some calls and whoever this Mr. Bond is - he was right," Jack says. "His name pops up on all kinds of lists, Interpol, CIA - "

"Oh my god," she exclaims with a look towards Jack. "And you think he's kidnapped Will? To what possible end? What does he want?"

"Taking an FBI agent hostage is not something you do without a plan," Jack says, frustration building in his voice. 

"Money," Hannibal says quietly behind clenched teeth. "He came to me asking for money, but I refused. I naively believed that was the end of it."

Alana leans on the desk, shaking her head slowly. "I just can't believe this, why - out of all people - would he take Will? Does he expect the FBI is just going to hand him money? He has to know the US government doesn't negotiate with terrorists!"

"It's my fault," Hannibal says, sitting down in a chair and dejectedly clasping his hands together, frowning with seemingly troubled thoughts. "I introduced him to Will, and told him everything he needed. I should have given him what he asked for, and this could have been prevented."

"You said it yourself, Hannibal. You didn't know the whole truth," Alana says, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You can't blame yourself for this - he may be related to you, but his actions are not your fault."

"Here's what I don't understand," Jack begins with a restrained frustration, rising from his seat to pace the room. "If he's taken Will hostage, why hasn't there been a ransom call? Dr. Lecter, have you gotten any notes or calls?"

"No, I - -" Hannibal begins, then suddenly pats his coat pockets to find his cell phone. "There is a voice message," he says. "Received only fifteen minutes ago."

"Put it on speaker," Jack instructs.

They listen to the recorded message in pained silence, only broken once by Alana's distraught gasp as she covers her mouth with her hands. "That... sounds like him. That's Will - _oh god_." 

Jack stares at the phone like he wanted to smash it into a thousand little pieces as Will's distorted but clearly audible screams sound into the room, before they're suddenly cut short as the message abruptly ends.

"This has to be about more than money," Jack says loudly, restarting his pacing. "That was not like any ransom call I've ever heard, there were no instructions, no ransom demand, nothing! Why would he call you, and not me and the bureau?"

Hannibal looks at his hands and doesn't face Jack's anger, carefully in control of his expressions, knowing his performance would dictate their acceptance of his distortion of the truth while savoring the hopelessness and horror slowly infecting the room.

"What are you not telling us, Dr. Lecter?!"

"You're right, Jack. It's not simply about money. He knows by hurting Will, he hurts me," Hannibal says quietly. "Because... I _care_ about Will."

Jack suddenly realizes his meaning, and stops his pacing. "So it is personal," he deduces without further comment, sending Alana a pointed look that she simply sternly ignores, placing her attention on her colleague and friend, who seemed to be taking these events the hardest, the burden of guilt - however undeserved - understandably overwhelming.

"What kind of grudge does he have against you that could inspire something like this, Hannibal?" she asks, disbelief apparent in her tone. "That call was borderline sadistic - no, it was sadistic, and he wanted you to hear it. "

"We haven't always seen eye to eye," Hannibal replies regretfully. "If I had known that he would harm Will -" he trails off, voice failing as his eyes fill with warm tears. "Will is my patient - my friend, and I failed him."

"We're going to find him," Alana says resolutely, grabbing the phone and walks towards the door. "I'm getting this recording over to our technical analysts, maybe they can trace it."

"Good," Jack replies and hands Hannibal a notepad and a pen. "I need you to write down everything you can remember about this Mr. Bond, Dr. Lecter," he says and clears his throat. 

"Meanwhile, I'm calling Washington. We're going to need all the help we can get."

 

**

 

Will endures the pain when it suddenly stops, leaving an ache that was bearable but flared up with every breath he took. He opens his eyes again and the man is gone, and so was the phone on the table.

He can hear seagulls squawking outside in the distance, and a chill reaches him from a gap in a door he could see the faint outline of on the other side of the building. He looks around timidly and realizes he's in a large, mostly empty warehouse, probably on or nearby the Port of Baltimore. 

Pale sunlight streams in through stained and broken glass windows high up on the rusted walls, making the dust swirling in the air light up and glitter.

A small, portable heater stood on his left, too far away to provide him with any real warmth, and he shivered as he watched his own breath fog up in the cold air.

There was something sticky on the side of his face, where his hair clung to it in wet patches and Will figured it was his own blood, from the laceration in his scalp, probably caused by a flying shard of glass when his car slammed into the tree. 

He aimlessly tugs at the ropes behind his back again, when he hears loud, hollow footsteps, like heavy boots on an iron staircase and he strains his aching body to see where they're coming from, but it's somewhere behind him and out of his range of vision.

"Mr. Graham, we meet again."

He knows that voice, and for a moment he's paralyzed, his mind racing to find answers and it dawns on him as he remembers what he was driving to Quantico for in the first place - to inform Jack about the shooter and the real bad guy he needed to look for. 

The real monster, who was now his captor.

Le Chiffre drags a small, steel chair along the concrete floor with an uncomfortable, high-pitched screech before placing it in front of Will and sitting down. 

"W-what do you want from me?" Will stammers out, trying desperately to control his shivering in the cold prickling his damp skin and to not show fear or weakness like the academy taught you in training - but he'd never been trained for this. _Not a real agent_ , a dark voice in his mind naggingly reminds him.

Will also remembers another thing - the look in Le Chiffre's eyes after he bit through his lip deep enough to make him bleed, and the memory of that night sends a shiver down his spine, goose bumps rising where Le Chiffre's touch marked him.

"You are... valuable, to a number of people," Le Chiffre says, staring straight into his eyes, his grey iris morbidly irresistible. "Value is my trade. And, until I know precisely what you're worth - you and I are going get to know each other a little better - and have some fun." 

Le Chiffre stands up with a smile as he reaches into his coat to retrieve a small, silver switchblade and flicks it out with a dreadful swishing noise, doubly increasing the knife's length.

"The pleasure will be mostly mine, of course. Unlike our little night together, your doctor is not here to protect you," he continues and walks to the small heater to warm his hands, rubbing his skin warm with a satisfied hum, making the blade reflect the dull glow. 

"Le Chiffre," Will says insistently while following the blade with his eyes, swallowing roughly down his dry throat, trying to recall negotiating tactics and see this man's true intent. "This is not gonna work, you know they're not going to give you what you want, which I assume is money. They're not going to negotiate with a terrorist," he finishes, nearly spitting out the last words while fighting against the ropes around his wrists and ankles and against his empathic mind always seeking to understand, to see. 

But he didn't want to understand this man. 

"They say if you torture a man long enough," Le Chiffre says, ignoring Will's outburst and attempt at reasoning. "- He will, eventually, experience a moment of pure euphoria. A state of bliss," he continues while dragging the blade along Will's cheek and walking to stand behind him.

"How long do you think is long enough, Mr. Graham?" he asks while roughly grabbing his chin, forcing him to look upwards, to face him. "How long - before your body adapts?"

"Screw you," Will snarls, earning a chuckle from the other man. 

Le Chiffre lets the blade slice into the soft skin beneath Will's jaw, just deep enough to draw blood, letting it trail down his neck in small drops and darken his shirt, and Will thinks of screaming for help, but knows no one would hear for miles. Screaming would just serve as encouragement for a sadist. 

"Well, I very much enjoyed the bliss your body gave me. You make such lovely sounds when your lungs are struggling to breathe," he says and grabs a firmer hold on his neck, replacing the blade with his tongue, running it over the cut between the rough, dark neck stubble.

Will writhes and struggles beneath his grip until he pulls back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, before it returns to its choke hold on his neck. 

The knife is back in front of Will's face as Le Chiffre leans down to talk hotly against his ear. "You know, ever since we met, I've wondered - 

\- how would your special gift of perception be affected, if you were missing an eye?"

 

**

 

"So, our shooting victim from the hotel, Victor Lumani, was working for Le Chiffre," Jack says, looking very worn out in the harsh lighting of the BSU labs. "And this - Mr. Bond - was the shooter, correct?"

"That's what Will said," Hannibal nods, glancing around the innermost sanctum of the science unit, the body of one of Le Chiffre's men lying on a metal slab with the bullet dug out of his brain and collected into a small jar.

"Did you find anything on the body we can use to track where he's been or where Le Chiffre is keeping Will?"

"We found no prints or even any fabric stains on his clothes," Beverly says and reads off her findings from a chart. "We did find some soil under the soles of his shoes, but it contained no unique trace compounds, it's just common dirt found pretty much in the entire state of Maryland."

"And the call was made from a disposable, making it impossible to track where it was placed from," Jack sighs deeply and looks at the dead body with disdain. "So how do we find Will Graham?!" he yells in frustration. 

Beverly studies her chart intently, then seems to think of something. 

"Will said this kill was professional, right?" she says, pointing at the body. "If he's right, and the shooter isn't an independent contract killer, but maybe working for a foreign government with orders to find Le Chiffre..."

"He could help," Jack nods, regaining some of his calm. "Run a search on his name, let's find out who he is and who sent him here. If we can't find Will, maybe he can."

"I certainly hope so," Hannibal says mournfully. "Otherwise, would you consider giving him what I'm certain he wants, the money I declined him?"

"There's no guarantee he'll let him go, Doctor, I'm sorry. We have to work with what we know," Jack says, while wishing with everything he was that he could forego procedure and rules as long as he got Will Graham back safely, but knowing it could only make the outcome worse.

"I feel such responsibility, Jack," Hannibal says with desolation heavy on his voice. "Knowing Will is in the hands of a madman because of me," he sighs. "The betrayal cuts deeper because he is my own flesh and blood."

"Trust me Doctor," Jack reassures him, and himself. "We'll find them, you have my word on that."

Hannibal excuses himself quietly under the pretense of needing some air, satisfied his sense of guilt and anger left a solid enough impression for them to believe he could do something reckless - like attempting to save Will Graham on his own.

 

**

 

Le Chiffre chuckles at the terror in Will's eyes reflected in the blade as he brings it close enough to scrape at the delicate skin beneath his left eye, before releasing his grip on his chin and walking back around to face his valuable captive. 

Will lets himself breathe again and momentarily believes he's gotten a small reprieve, when Le Chiffre suddenly lunges the knife downward and deeply into his thigh above his kneecap, stabbing it down to the hilt - and he finds himself screaming at the top of his battered lungs, sending echoes throughout the abandoned warehouse.

"Ahh," Le Chiffre inhales deeply as if he could breathe in Will's agony, trap it and sell it to the highest bidder. "You're doing very well, Mr. Graham."

There's no pain, at first, it was the shock - the fear of pain - that caught him off guard. When the pain finally hits, Will is close to vomiting. His head, already numb and clouded from the car crash, feels like a magnifying glass where every little sound and sensation is multiplied tenfold, adrenalin pumping in his veins.

"Hhhhng _god_ n-no," Will groans and scrunches his eyes shut in pain as Le Chiffre slides the blade back out of his leg and wipes the blood off on his pants, sitting back down on the chair facing him. 

"I can merely imagine how awful this must be for you, when I look so much like _him_ ," he states as he huffs his breath onto the blade, creating moisture to cloud the metal before wiping it a second time.

"Please, stop," Will says, voice breaking and fraying at the edges, desperately wishing for unconsciousness to lay its heavy, dark blanket over him again. "I'll do whatever you want, just p-please..."

Le Chiffre studies his face for a moment while thumbing at his upper lip in thought. "Tell me Mr. Graham. How do you think -" he says while pointing to his damaged eye with the knife, "- I got this?"

"I-I don't know..." Will stutters out between trembling lips while the light outside fades from a light indigo to a dark, rich blue.

"You recreate crimes in your mind, don't you? You see how they happened, through the eyes of bad men. So, I'm asking you again. Tell me what you see."

Will tries to ignore the new pain in his leg, hoping the blade didn't sever a major artery and thinks of refusing Le Chiffre's request, but realizes he could very well leave this warehouse in a body bag. He briefly thinks of Hannibal, and Jack and his colleagues who must've known he's missing by now, but not daring to hope for a rescue.

He looks at Le Chiffre and knows he could be his end, and for a moment he wonders who will take care of his dogs when he's gone, and a sob builds in his throat but he fights it back, not giving his torturer the satisfaction of seeing him cry. At least, not yet.

He breathes in deeply and blocks out the pain in his aching limbs and bones, letting the space around him disappear as he shuts his eyes, and _sees_.

"I do it with a scalpel," he begins, voice steady through trembling lips, and in his mind he is free from his restraints and wielding a sharp, beautiful blade. "It has to be sharp enough to part the skin exactly the way I want it to, and this one -" the scalpel shines in blinding light, "- is my favorite."

Le Chiffre sits as if transfixed, the accuracy of Will's perception startling and uneasy in its true, raw form.

"I masterfully split open the lid and the eye itself with a simple flick of my wrist, but I don't take your sight. I want it to change you, to scar you, to mark you for life," Will continues, eyes flickering in distress at what unfolds in his mind.

"I do it for the poetic irony of nearly blinding someone who saw what they weren't supposed to, but my scalpel knows when to stop. I want you to still be able to see your own face in the mirror, and my work reflected back."

A drop of blood forms in Le Chiffre's eye as his veins contract and he listens, tension filling his body. He taps it away while his mind recalls how his face was scarred, and the reason why he decided to forget his real name - his _family_ name. 

"I give you a reminder to ensure your silence, a reminder that if you talk, I will finish what I started and leave you alone, in a world of your own darkness. _This_ , is my design."

Will's eyes fly open and this time he can't stop the tears, dripping down his cheek, warm and wet. His body is tired - so tired, and he feels utterly weak and broken.

"Wow," Le Chiffre says with a huff, nodding solemnly to himself. "You are very, very good," he continues while rising to stand, putting away the knife and looking at Will who was close to passing out. 

"Hey," he says and taps Will's cheek gently. "No sleeping, Mr. Graham."

Will looks helplessly up towards him, feeling himself grateful the knife was gone. He tries not to be, not to empathize - but it was a losing battle, and right now, he really hated his 'gift'.

"It seems your body is adapting," Le Chiffre muses while stroking the bloody curls out of his eyes. "Let's try something else, hm?" he continues while placing a finger on his ear piece.

"Bring them in," he says to whomever one of his men were listening on the other end, and kneels down in front of Will's chair, stroking his thigh where the blade went in and earning a groan from the other man.

"You see," Le Chiffre says to him while fishing out his inhaler from his pocket. "My men tell me you have a particular fondness for dogs," he continues while pushing down on the inhaler and breathing in the medication, licking his lips. 

Will's stomach turns momentarily, and a sinking feeling spreads in his gut. "No, no," he stammers out, picturing the worst in his mind. "Please, _no_. Don't -"

"Don't be alarmed, Mr. Graham," Le Chiffre smiles cunningly. "I like dogs as well - and I thought perhaps you'd like to meet mine. They're very well-trained, and quite the useful animals in my line of work."

The door on the far end of the warehouse glides open into the night with a loud creak of rusty iron against iron, and the balding henchman from earlier that day enters with two large, black Dobermans on a long chain leash.

Will feels panic eating away at the edge of his mind as the dogs are brought closer, close enough for him to see their lips curled back in a sneer, revealing rows of sharp carnivore fangs.

Le Chiffre chuckles with malicious intent as the vicious animals growl at the tied stranger, the henchman struggling to hold them back. Le Chiffre takes a couple of small steps backwards, enjoying the growing terror on Will's face.

"I said they were well-trained," Le Chiffre says loudly over the aggressive barks and growling. "But, once they sense the smell of fresh blood, all bets are off."

 

**


	5. Chapter 5

The front door of Hannibal's esteemed home is standing wide open to the cold when he arrives, having managed to avoid being afforded much attention as he left the controlled chaos at the BSU headquarters. 

While they meddled with the bureaucracy involved with an inter-agency investigation and grasped at the straws they called leads, he would take matters into his own hands, and set in motion a - on the surface, reckless and dangerous, - but undeniably heroic rescue mission.

Hannibal lets the door glide open and walks inside with guarded steps, fully expecting to find an intruder in his home, but outwardly appearing cautious. After all, a madman was on the loose, and targeting him and the people he cared for.

He enters his library to find Bond siting in the same chair Will Graham had been occupying, just days ago. 

"Mr. Bond?" Hannibal says inquisitively, watching the other man calmly sip on his finest whiskey. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you're here. You found my office easily enough, so my home address presumably wasn't much of a challenge either," he continues and walks slowly into the large, distinguished room, wary of the skilled gunman's body language.

"I hope you don't mind, Dr. Lecter," Bond says while raising his glass. "You have a marvelous selection, and I never could resist a good Macallan."

"Of course, be my guest," Hannibal nods and tentatively bides his time, choosing his words carefully. "Although, I hope your reason for being here is to tell me you've found Le Chiffre." 

"I've got a lead," Bond says and finishes his drink while rising to stand, stark blue eyes and a hard face meeting Hannibal's. "He's taken your patient, the special agent with the FBI?"

"Yes," Hannibal says. "He's kidnapped him to get to me, to make me pay - literally and figuratively. Mr. Bond, I would appreciate your help in this matter."

Bond narrows his eyes briefly, as if trying to study the enigmatic doctor's motives, but all he saw was a burdened, but determined man. "You're considering giving Le Chiffre what he wants?" he asks.

"I fear Will Graham's colleagues, though very good at what they do, will not find him in time," Hannibal answers apologetically.

"Your fear is not unfounded. I, myself might be one of the few people still breathing who knows what your friend is going through. And, what Le Chiffre is truly capable of."

Hannibal nods in silence, and Bond thinks he might be on the verge of downright pleading for his help, but he was prepared to give it to him after asking one, last question.

"Dr. Lecter, I think I know where he is keeping Mr. Graham, but I have to ask you one thing - because it's likely this will be a very dangerous rescue operation, in fact I count on it."

Bond steps closer to Hannibal, underlining his words by resolutely meeting the doctor's deep brown gaze, and reading his expression for any hint of doubt. Fear was good - fear made you better - but uncertainty and doubt made you an easy target. 

"My orders are to bring your cousin in alive, but... I have to know if things get bloody - you won't stand in my way."

Hannibal doesn't blink and unwaveringly steels his expression to assure this fascinatingly cold - yet sophisticated - man that he was summoning his deepest courage, while contemplating all the interestingly violent ways the night could end.

"I only wish to save Will Graham," he says firmly, knowing the best lies were served within half-truths. "He is an innocent in all of this." 

"Alright," Bond nods without inquiring further, quietly acknowledging a sense of respect for the polite doctor's willingness to risk his own safety to save his patient, even when the captor was bound to him by blood. 

Bond has a black Aston Martin DBS parked two blocks down the street, and Hannibal suppresses a smirk while admiring its minimalist luxury as he gets in the passenger seat and watches the skill in which the other man pushes the V12 engine to its limits.

"I tracked one of Le Chiffre's men to a disused warehouse in the city port, not far from the Northwest Harbour," Bond explains with a look toward Hannibal, before resuming his focus to the streets ahead. 

As they get closer to the water, Bond reaches down beneath the dash board and a secret compartment slides out with a small hydraulic sound, containing two hand guns.

"You're a man of many mysteries, Mr. Bond," Hannibal remarks matter-of-factly. 

"It's _Agent_ Bond," he smiles briefly while keeping his eyes on the road. "Take this, as a precaution," he continues, while holstering one gun beneath his coat and handing the other to Hannibal. "I'd rather you were armed when we go inside, Dr. Lecter. Just make sure the safety's off and you know where you're aiming before you pull the trigger."

Hannibal accepts the gun, curiously feeling its heavy weight in his hand. He much preferred a sharp tool, guns were much too efficient, and they had a tendency to destroy in his victims what he wanted to take from them.

"I am in your debt, Agent Bond," Hannibal says earnestly as they reach the docks. "I don't know how to thank you."

"You can thank me by getting your friend out alive."

 

**

 

"Chain them up," Le Chiffre orders to his henchman, who restrains the barking dogs to a hook in the floor then leaves to resume guarding the perimeter around the warehouse. 

"I will keep the dogs away," Le Chiffre says and pets the dogs gently while they continue to growl aggressively toward Will, "because I need you to remain in one piece."

Will tries to calm his racing heart pumping painfully fast in his chest, delirium edging ever closer, threatening to shroud his mind completely while he fought bravely no to lose himself. "They're gonna find me," he says shakily, the ropes the only thing keeping him still seated upright on the chair. "They're - they are going to find us both, and when they do, they'll ship you off to rot in a place that doesn't even exist on a map."

Le Chiffre grins wide and walks closer to the shivering special agent, straining his hearing to pick up the mumbled, trembling words.

"You'll _rot_ and Hannibal is never going to forgive you, because he, - because -"

"...Yes? Because he loves you?" Le Chiffre asks while leaning down over Will and plucking his shirt open, revealing a large dark blue and purple bruise blooming over his ribs. He runs two fingers over his chest, tracing the edges of the bruise where the red merged into pink, earning choked sobs from the other man.

Will squeezes his eyes shut and nods in silence, as the hollow, pained sobs made his vocal chords useless. His leg felt like it was on fire, the blood darkening his pant leg and dripping onto the floor and soaking his sock, and he wondered if an artery had been cut after all.

"And where is he now, hm?" Le Chiffre asks angrily, grabbing a fistful of mangled curls and forcing his head up, to face him and his lifeless eyes, staring into Will's tearful eyes and snotty nose with a look of contempt. 

The dogs growled deeper and pawed at the concrete in response to the anger in his voice.

"How does it feel, knowing you are all alone? That no one, not even your lover - is coming for you?" Le Chiffre continues while thumbing at Will's nearly healed lower lip, merely a red mark left behind from where his teeth drew blood. 

Will sways unsteadily in his grip, his vision beginning to blur when suddenly, a strangled shout and muffled protests sound from somewhere outside, followed quickly by two silent pops.

Le Chiffre unholsters a gun from beneath his coat and swirls around toward the direction of the noise, aiming the weapon into the darkness toward the only entrance. He taps his ear piece and speaks a few, hurried words in a language Will doesn't understand.

Will gathers the very last reserves of his strength and used his body weight to topple the chair, landing heavily on his arm on the floor, and he forces himself to stay awake knowing this could be his last and only chance to ever see sunlight again.

Le Chiffre gives up trying to contact his men outside and tuns toward Will on the ground, walking to stand above him with the gun trained on his head. "You're a lucky man, Mr. Graham. Now, do not move a muscle, or your luck will surely run out. It would be a shame to ruin that pretty head of yours by decorating the floor with your brain matter."

The metal door at the far end of the warehouse bursts open with a loud bang, sending the dogs into another barking fit, only to be silenced by their master as Le Chiffre voices a command to them in that same, foreign tongue. 

Will vaguely makes out the shapes of two men entering, straining to see in the dim lights as the heater he'd fallen next to sends soothing warmth down his back, and he wanted to close his eyes and let the darkness envelop him - but he wasn't safe yet, so he keeps fighting.

"Mr. Bond," Le Chiffre calls out cheerfully to the two quickly approaching figures, "and the good doctor, what a pleasant surprise. I was starting to believe you'd given up on poor Will Graham."

Hannibal enters the warehouse a few steps behind Bond, quickly surveying the surroundings until he spots Will lying on his side on the floor, still roped to a broken chair. " _Will_!" he says intently, watching for any response from his bleeding patient. He looked seriously injured and on the verge of losing consciousness.

"Dr. Lecter?" Will answers softly, breathing harshly against the cold floor, barely aware of the gun Le Chiffre had pointed at his head. "Oh, thank you... God, _please_ Hannibal," he nearly whimpered as new, hot tears wetted the filthy ground he lay on. "I knew you'd come, I knew... I knew..."

"Try not to move, Will," Hannibal says and turns his attention to Le Chiffre. "Please, Le Chiffre, let him go and I'll give you anything you ask."

"Your men are dead, Le Chiffre. Put down your gun and you won't join them," Bond adds, keeping his Walther trained on the terrorist, feeling the adrenaline surge through his system after months of tracking this man and his thugs halfway around the world.

"Ahh! I hope you're healing well, Mr. Bond," Le Chiffre smiles with a pointed look towards Bond's groin. "Are you still able to relieve yourself while standing up like a man?"

"It's time to end this," Hannibal says firmly while keeping the weapon in his hand lowered by his side, not letting his eyes stray from Will's as they slowly glaze over and flutter shut.

Will finally gives in to unconsciousness, letting the darkness cover him and drag his weary body down into a welcome rest and a peaceful ignorance, allowing himself a final moment of relief when the last thing he sees is his psychiatrist coming to save him - and he knows he's not alone. 

"Will?!" Hannibal calls out. "Can you hear me? _Will_?"

He doesn't answer, and Bond takes a further few steps forward toward his target and his unresponsive captive, skillfully aiming his weapon straight at Le Chiffre's heart. "There's nowhere left to run. You're leaving this warehouse at gunpoint or in a body bag. It's over."

Le Chiffre looks down at Will for a moment and calmly holsters his gun in an apparent act of surrender, experimentally nudging Will's head with the tip of his shoe to no response. 

"Agreed," he says with a smile as he looks back up, nonchalantly throwing his arms out to the side. "You are correct, Mr. Bond. It's over - for _you_."

The gun shot is amplified inside the large building, echoing sharply against the walls.

Bond drops slowly down to his knees, his eyes wide with shock and confusion as the bullet demolishes his shoulder blade and pierces his lung and he gasps raggedly for air as it quickly fills with blood, drowning him and bleeding out from within.

Hannibal curiously watches the agent struggle to breathe in front of him, walking around to face him and bending to take the gun in Bond's hand while the light slowly fades from his arctic blues.

"You've been most helpful, Agent," Hannibal says as the agent realizes he's been betrayed and tries to speak, but instead begins coughing up blood, running red down his chin. "But, I'm afraid I have no use for you anymore."

"So, here we are again," Le Chiffre says triumphantly as he joins Hannibal, leaning down to face to the dying agent. "Are you seeing double, 007?" he chuckles and pushes Bond slightly with one finger, just enough to make him fall from his knees to the floor, spitting and gargling blood onto the concrete.

"I will be looking forward to killing your replacement," he finishes as Hannibal hands him both guns and goes to check on Will's vitals, avoiding the snapping jaws of the chained Dobermans. 

Hannibal kneels next to Will's unmoving form, taking his pulse with two fingers on his neck and freeing his sore wrists and ankles from the rough fisherman's rope. He undoes his own tie and deftly secures it around Will's thigh above the knife wound as a makeshift tourniquet.

"Have you transferred the money?" Le Chiffre asks, stepping back from Bond's convulsing body to avoid getting blood on his shoes - and taps information into a phone.

"Yes, to the account number you provided," Hannibal says and checks Will's pulse a second time, just to be safe. It was steady and solid, but he was still shivering in the cold so he removes his coat and carefully drapes it across him.

"It's been a pleasure doing business with you, dear cousin," Le Chiffre says, putting the phone away as Bond's body goes completely still. "I could use always use a man like you, if you ever tire of playing therapist."

"Did you break him?" Hannibal asks and studies Will's bloodied yet peaceful face.

"No, not unless you are referring to his bones. But then, you did tell me to hold back."

"A little goes a long way, I assure you. You of all people should know that, Le Chiffre."

Le Chiffre chuckles knowingly and takes out his knife again, twirling it thoughtfully between his fingers before flicking the silver blade out to its full length. "You killed him too quickly," he says with hatred in his voice as Hannibal appears by his side, head cocked slightly sideways with amused interest.

Le Chiffre kneels next to the body. "I would have liked for him to feel this."

"By taking from Mr. Bond what makes him a man, are you also taking his power over you - even in death?"

Le Chiffre laughs coldly at Hannibal's psychological inquiry as he begins cutting in a distinctly non-surgical fashion. "I don't believe in unfinished business, Doctor," he breathes heavily, his good eye equally as cold as his dull, lifeless left eye. "And, - _the dogs are hungry_."

Hannibal's lip twitches slightly at the crudeness and the lack of skill in which Le Chiffre made his cuts, sending a pointed look toward the sneering canines and picturing them indelicately devouring the meat whole.

"May I suggest an alternative? There's a recipe I've been curious to try."

 

**

 

It's a blur of blinding white and beeping machines when Will wakes, the table by his bed adorned with flowers from Dr. Bloom and the BSU. His head feels like it's filled with cotton, and the remnants of a nightmare lingered in his psyche. He'd dreamt he was being chased by a vicious, snarling black beast with eight legs and an hollow chasm where its left eye should have been.

"Will?" a familiar voice by his side says. "You've been heavily sedated, don't force yourself awake."

"Hannibal?" he mumbles drowsily from a very dry mouth. "Where am I?"

"In the hospital, Will. You're safe," Hannibal says comfortingly. "He can't hurt you anymore."

Will sighs deeply as if in bottomless relief as there is a knock on the narrow viewing window on the door, and Jack comes inside the small hospital room.

"Will," he says and nods a greeting toward Hannibal. "Good to see you're awake. How are you feeling?"

"Like hell," Will says with a groan, frowning at the pain in his bandaged ribs. 

"Right, that was a stupid question," Jack says apologetically. "I'll tell the nurse not to skimp on the morphine. And I heard you set a new bureau record in number of stitches."

Will manages a half-smile in Jack's direction, before a darkness clouds his expression, and he looks toward Hannibal sitting by the side of his bed. "What happened? The last thing I remember is you and that other man coming for me, but I think I blacked out."

Will looks questioningly back toward Jack. "Did you get him?" he asks darkly between clenched teeth.

"I'm sorry, Will - he was gone when SWAT arrived on scene," Jack answers, eyes betraying a regretfulness and an unfulfilled desire for retaliation for what was done to another special agent he'd failed to protect. "But we got you back safe, all thanks to the heroic - but extremely misguided actions of your doctor here," he continues with a stern look toward Hannibal. "You went behind our backs and we could've lost both of you, Dr. Lecter."

"I know," Hannibal replies with downcast eyes. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking clearly. My only thought was to save Will," he continues. "And when Agent Bond offered to help, how could I refuse? If anything had happened to Will at the hands of Le Chiffre, and I had done nothing to stop it..." Hannibal's voice trails off.

Will's eyes go almost imperceptively blank, and his fingers reach out to brush quickly against Hannibal's clasped hands on the bed. 

"Oh hell," Jack sighs. "In your situation, I probably would've done the same thing. I just wished you'd called me and maybe Le Chiffre would be in our custody right now."

"Jack..." Will says quietly, urging the other man to save his sermon for another time, and Jack seems to take the hint. "What happened to the agent, Bond?" Will asks.

"After Le Chiffre received the ransom, he let me take you - and I carried you far enough to call for an ambulance. Mr. Bond had Le Chiffre at gunpoint when I left," Hannibal says earnestly.

"Bond and Le Chiffre are both unaccounted for right now, but we'll find them," Jack says without really believing his own words. If Bond really was a foreign agent, he would take his prisoner back to Europe and detain him indefinitely to extract any valuable information he might have. "Meanwhile, you focus on getting better so I can get you back to work," Jack finishes and turns toward the door. 

"Dr. Lecter," he nods respectfully toward Hannibal and exits, leaving the two of them alone.

The heart monitor sounds alien and strange, but Will finds it a strange comfort. "You paid him to get me back?" he asks after a few moments of silence had passed, scratching thoughtfully at the self-adhesive plaster covering the laceration above his forehead.

"It seemed my only option," Hannibal replies sadly. "Money loses all value when you're facing the possible loss of human life. Especially when it's _your_ life."

"He didn't break me," Will says thoughtfully, almost to himself. "He tried, but he didn't break me. Because I knew I wasn't alone," he continues. "I always knew you'd find me, Hannibal."

"Will..." Hannibal begins regretfully. "I'm so sorry. I brought him into your life, and -"

"Stop, please," Will says. "I don't wanna do this, I don't want to waste our time regretting or second-guessing. Or hating what I can't control."

"That is a very healthy mindset, Will," Hannibal says softly.

"I have a good psychiatrist."

Hannibal rises slowly with a smile, tugging the hospital blankets carefully further up and around Will's body. "You need to rest."

Will feels the morphine take its effect and lets himself be tucked in, sighing heavily and laying down into on the oversized pillows. "We never, uhm, had our dinner," he remarks sleepily, eyes fluttering shut as the powerful pain killer takes effect, spreading a warmth through his bruised skin and making him feel utterly weightless.

Hannibal hushes him softly, and leans down to place a quick kiss on his warm, damp forehead as he fades back into sleep. He stays, watching Will for a while and thinking of the look in his eyes before blood loss and exhaustion overcame him back in the warehouse. It was a look of pure, undiluted dependence and devotion, 

\- _love_ \- 

and he deeply yearned to see it again. 

 

**

 

" _Animelles de Moutons Frites_ ," Hannibal says in perfect French as he places the delicately plated dish on the table in front of Will, whose crutches were leaning against the wall behind him. "Lamb, cooked with tarragon vinegar, herbs and onions and served with a parsley garnish," he explains and sets down his own plate, seating himself on the other side of the table.

"Thank you," Will says and shifts in the chair to find a comfortable position without straining his injured leg. Bandages were still covering it and the healing cut above his hairline and he was still surprised the hospital let him out so soon.

He'd been sent along a week's supply of pain killers and with orders to rest as much as possible, and Hannibal seemed eager to care for him - convincing him to stay in his home for his recovery.

Will agreed only after making sure he wasn't simply doing it out of guilt, which Hannibal had assured him he wasn't.

The dining room was dimly lit with distinctly romantic, fluttering candles, and the smell of onions and herbs filled the room. The peaceful, harmonious violins of Borodin's _Notturno_ gently lent credence to the intimate atmosphere.

"This is great," Will says after taking a few bites, swallowing the chewy meat. "Jack called this morning," he continues as Hannibal lovingly watches him eat. "He said they found a body in the harbour, not far from..." he trails off uncomfortably, "anyway, they think it's the agent."

"Really?" Hannibal says, pausing in slicing up the food on his plate to listen.

"Yes," Will nods. "And his - uhm, genitals were missing."

Hannibal's eyes widen in shock and apparent disgust. "How awful," he exclaims, shaking his head in disbelief. "I'd hoped for a much better outcome to these terrible events. He was a good man."

"I guess Le Chiffre - or his men, got to him," Will says thoughtfully, briefly reliving the horror of the hours he was held captive. "That could've easily been me."

"Thank God it wasn't," Hannibal remarks and resumes eating, carefully skewering an onion with his fork. "I'm very grateful you're here to share this meal with me, Will."

"So am I," Will smiles timidly, and sips at the red wine in his glass as the candles flicker uneasily, summoning strange shadows in their wake.

 

**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] In _The Living Daylights_ , James Bond expresses an appreciation for Borodin's [Nocturne](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3gXoTpvSIGM). 
> 
> [2] _Animelles de Moutons Frites_ roughly translates to fried sheep testicles. They're rich in testosterone and celebrated around the world for their culinary as much as their reproductive properties. They're also believed to be a powerful aphrodisiac.


End file.
